The Long and Winding Road
by Emberstar359
Summary: Fenris has left him, and Hawke is devastated. Having never experienced the loss of a lover before, William Hawke finds the road to recovery is a long and winding one. However, he may be lucky enough to find exactly what he needs as he copes with losing what he thought he wanted. Past FenrisxM!Hawke with eventual AndersxM!Hawke
1. Unwell

Hawke was not in good shape at all. It had been almost a week, but the pain in his chest had yet to subside. It was strange to think that one night could shake up his world so much, but his bed felt cold and empty without his partner's warmth cuddled against his body.

Well… not his partner anymore.

That would be the problem, as it were.

Fenris was gone, and William knew that full well. That, of course, did little to help the pain. He had cared for Fenris; _did_ care for Fenris. But it seemed that the elf did not feel the same. Or… perhaps he did. He had not been very clear the night he walked out.

Hawke turned over, staring blankly at the canopy above him. He felt sick. Hawke was rather flirtatious, yes, but he was not one to take sex lightly. Fenris had not been his first… but he had been his first man. And only his second overall. Hawke knew this self-pity was pointless. Fenris leaving had nothing to do with his appearance or… performance. Yet he could not shake this bout of insecurity.

Will's fingers instinctively reached up to rest on his left eye. Or rather, where his left eye used to be before his accident in the Deep Roads. Yet another thing the darkspawn took from him.

Hawke turned ever so slightly to gaze into the glass of water on his bed side table, floating in which was his glass eye. He hated the thing. Hated it greatly. The eye colors didn't _quite _match, and it gave him a rather odd, uneven gaze. This was only made worse by the muscle damage: The darkspawn were not gentle when they gouged his eye out (obviously), and even with all the treatment available, the damaged tissue just didn't contract the way it used to. His glass eye simply couldn't keep up with his good one, meaning the two never quite looked the same way. He had a lazy eye. A lazy, glass eye. He felt pathetic.

In the back of his mind Hawke realized laying here thinking about Fenris wasn't good for him. Perhaps it was this subconscious thought that sent him into his dresser looking for his eye patch.

If there was anything Hawke hated more than his glass eye, it was his eye patch. It made him feel like a bandit, and by the looks people gave him, it made him look like one as well. But previous crying left the socket irritated, and his glass eye far too uncomfortable an option. (Wasn't he fortunate that bloody genlock left his tear ducts intact?) Walking around with a hole in his face was the last thing William wanted though. If an eye patch got him fearful looks, he could only imagine what people would do if he walked about with a jagged hole in his face.

Will slipped the accursed thing over his head and into place before walking from his room. He had no plan and no location in mind; it was purely habit which bid him strap his daggers to his waist. He simply knew he could no longer stay here and wallow in self-pity. He had to move.

"William?"

A voice broke through his melancholy and brought him back to the world. It was his mother, sat by the fire with a book in hand and a worried look upon her features.

She knew of course. She had seen Fenris leave the mansion that morning, and (to Hawke's great embarrassment) had heard their rather rambunctious love making as well. She had certainly been shocked by her son's choice of partners, but had not pressed the issue once she realized how poorly it had ended. He had not needed to tell her. She simply knew. She read him well. And Hawke was grateful.

But now, she was worried, and he could not stand to see her worry.

"Hello mother." Hawke greeted, giving her a rather fake smile. She saw through it of course. She always did.

She frowned slightly. "It's getting rather late, dear, where are you headed?"

He had no destination. He simply needed to feel the cool of night on his face. Needed to get away. But he could not tell her that.

"The Hanged Man." It was not a lie, Hawke was sure he would end up there at some point that night. "I'll probably be out late, so don't worry about me."

She merely gave him a sad smile. "I always worry, dear."

He felt a pang of guilt, but knew there was nothing he could say to make this better. So he simply turned and walked out into the crisp night air.

* * *

The memory was sharp in his mind.

He woke late that faithful night to see Fenris, fully dressed and staring into the fire with that same angry expression on his face. Part of Will had hoped the intimacy they had shared would help the elf open up to him. It hurt slightly to see him here, as broody and guarded as ever.

When Hawke spoke his voice was small. "Was…Was it that bad?"

Fenris turned to him, sounding rather pained as well. "I'm sorry, it's not… It was fine."

Hawke averted his gaze. Fine..?

"No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

Hawke smiled slightly at this. He was not a very skilled lover, and was becoming rather bashful under the praise.

Than a thought crossed his mind, and he furrowed his brow in worry.

"Your markings… They hurt, don't they?"

Fenris shook his head forcefully, avoiding his lover's gaze. "It's not that… I've… Began to remember. Just flashes. Of my life before. It's too much. It's too fast, I cannot… do this."

Hawke sat up a bit, now deeply troubled. "Your life before? What do you mean?"

"I've never remembered anything from before the ritual." Fenris explained, "There were faces… words… For just a moment I could recall all of it. Than it slips away."

William raised his eyebrows in surprise. "If it brings your memory back, maybe we should do it more often."

Hawke could tell this was not what he should have said when the other man scowled.

"Perhaps you do not understand how upsetting this is." The elf rumbled, "I've never remembered anything! And to have it all come back in a rush only to lose it… I can't."

Will sat up straighter, reaching out for his lover, "We can work through this."

He almost felt his heart shatter when Fenris turned away.

"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool." he started towards the door, head down, voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Forgive me."

In hindsight, Hawke should have known it would end badly. He and Fenris did not see eye to eye, and likely never would. Their night together had not been slow, soft, love making. It was anger and frustration and the heat of the moment… The elf had not been gentle with him. (To such a degree that Hawke couldn't sit comfortably the next day.) It had been rough and furious, and things like that didn't tend to last. He should have known.

_'Forgive me_' he had said.

But could he really? Could he really forgive him for taking him and then dropping him so quickly? For toying with his emotions like that?

Deep down Hawke knew Fenris hadn't meant to hurt him. But having an object of hatred helped deflect the pain, no matter how unfair it was to dump the blame on the elf. He knew Fenris, he knew he wouldn't break his heart just for the hell of it. And he knew it had hurt him just as badly to leave as it had hurt Hawke to watch him go. Hawke wanted to be angry with him, but deep down, he just couldn't be. He cared too much.

Hawke had been smitten with the elf the moment they met, and had fought tooth and nail to protect his friend from the slavers. He wanted to hold him, care for him, give him a place where he could feel safe and finally let his guard down. A place to go when he no longer had to run. Maker, he cared for Fenris. Given enough time… he may have even fallen in love with him.

But this isn't what Fenris would have wanted, he realized.

Fenris didn't want to be coddled or cared for: it was clear that being tied down scared him after years of being chained up. Fenris wanted to be free and independent and to need no one and nothing. The idea of attachment seemed to scare him, keep him tethered to one person. Hawke couldn't fault him for not wanting to be tied down.

When all was said and done, Fenris _needed_ to feel free. And Hawke would not be the man to tame him.

* * *

The walk from Hightown to Lowtown had been soothing, at least somewhat. The slight chill of winter helped clear Will's head, and now his thoughts _almost _made sense. But he knew it would be a while yet before he could put it together coherently. But if he had anything, it was time.

As Hawke walked through the door to the Hanged Man, he couldn't help but smile. Despite being dirty and full of criminal scum, the tavern was warm and inviting, and Hawke couldn't help but relax. Seeing Varric nearby captivating a group of patrons with what was surely a wildly exaggerated story, he grinned and decided to join the crowd.

"…And then Hawke tore the door clean off its hinges walked into the room and-"

Yep. He called it. He totally called it.

Varric stopped mid-sentence when he locked eyes with Hawke. He grinned. "I guess we'll finish this later." He said to the group of onlookers, and they began to break up.

Will stepped forward, giving the dwarf a slight smile. "Have you got a minute Varric?"

"Of course Hawke!" he replied heartily, "Actually I've been meaning to talk to you."

The two friends settled down at a table and ordered their drinks before the dwarf continued.

"So… People say you and the elf… you know the angsty, Tevinter one- are becoming quite the item."

Hawke felt his stomach plummet, and he was unable to meet his friend's eye.

"Your information is out of date, Varric… That's already ancient history…"

Concern flashed across the other man's features. "Shit. Now I'm sorry I brought it up. Everything alright?"

Hawke sighed, and when he finally met Varric's gaze, his eyes were swimming with pain. "A drink might help. Or several."

Varric shook his head, brow knitted in worry. "It's not like you to brood. Let's go find a fight we can get into."

Will couldn't help but smile at this. "If Bella's still sober I'm sure she'd love to join us in beating some Lowtown thugs into submission."

Varric grinned widely at that. "Now _that's_ the Hawke I know!"


	2. The Deep Roads

Looking back, Hawke falling in love with Fenris was inevitable, really. Fenris had been there when Hawke had been at his absolute lowest, and had helped him make it through to the other side. He was, of course, talking about the Deep Roads.

There were so many things about that expedition he would have done differently, but the biggest mistake was who he chose to bring with him. And he wasn't talking about Bartrand. No, in the big picture Bartrand's betrayal failed in comparison to all Hawke lost down there.

Bethany…

Maker, Hawke would do almost anything to bring her back. To undo what he'd done. It had been years, but he swore her words still hung fresh in his mind as if it were yesterday… As if she had carved those words into his heart.

"It's the blight isn't it? I'll end up just like Wesley won't I?"

"I'm not going to last till the surface. It's coming on faster."

Maker, had he cried. He didn't even care that Varric and Fenris were there. He held her and he _sobbed. _Not his Bethany… His kind hearted, gentle little sister… His best friend. It was more than he could bare.

"You'll take care of it, won't you brother?"

He remembers sobbing, begging… but the exact words had faded with time. He couldn't do it! He wouldn't…

"It's just you now. Take care of mother."

Those words had been heart breaking. He remembers holding her and crying pitifully into her shoulder as he pulled out his dagger with trembling hands. He wouldn't let the blight take her. She deserved better than that. He'd rather take her life himself than watch the taint slowly suck the life from her body. So… he agreed. She said she loved him. He sputtered it repeatedly back like a mantra, as if those words made what he was about to do ok. But they didn't. She was scared. Scared to die. And he was the one bringing death down upon her. The last words he said to her… had been words of comfort.

"Don't be scared Beth…" he had struggled through tears, "Big brother's going to make the pain go away…"

And then it was over. She was gone.

* * *

He couldn't leave her body there as darkspawn fodder. Bethany deserved so much more than that. Neither of Hawke's friends had known how to comfort him as he sat there in camp, sobbing uncontrollably. But when asked if they would cremate the body, they both jumped at the opportunity; at least they could do that much to help. As much as he _needed _to bring the ashes home, he could not stand to watch her body burn. So he stayed at camp and sulked, allowing his companions to do the rest. Fenris would burn the body; Varric was sorting through trinkets he had pilfered, having promised to find a burial urn worthy of her. Hawke was grateful that he didn't need to be involved.

No one was really thinking clearly in this situation. No one had thought that it wasn't safe to leave Hawke alone when he was in too distressed a state to defend himself properly. That was the second mistake Hawke made.

Looking back, Will realized they had been drawn to the sound of his crying. Darkspawn weren't exactly intelligent, what they knew what weakness sounded like. And they knew how to exploit it.

They were on him in seconds. Hawke screamed in surprise, fumbling for his daggers, only to realize that to his horror, he was unarmed. He was a dead man.

Will was forced to resort to physically wresting with the darkspawn, trying vainly to knock them away with his fists. It wasn't enough. He was on the ground within moments, the horrid creature's dagger ready to plunge through his eye and into his brain. As the dull blade pierced the sensitive organ, Hawke cried out in agony, and waited for death to come. He remained conscious just long enough to see the genlock's head cleaved clean from his shoulders by a massive sword.

* * *

Hawke was damn lucky to be alive, this much he knew. And this was the first thing to cross his mind when he woke in his bed roll hours later. The second thing to cross his mind, was heat and _agony. _His hand shot up to touch his injured eye, only to make contact with soft bandages, slightly damp with blood. _His _blood. Maker what had happened to his eye?!

"You're a lucky man, Hawke." Came Varric's voice from not far away, "Had that dagger gone another inch, you'd be dead."

Will struggled to sit up, feeling his head begin to spin as he did. But he had to see… had to _know._

"Bethany?" He croaked, suddenly realizing how dry his throat was. Maker, he was thirsty. Did he have a fever?

The dwarf chuckled. "Always the selfless one. Fenris is taking care of it. He should be back with… the urn any moment now."

Relaxing slightly, Hawke lay back down. "What's the damage?" He asked tentatively. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"You will live." Came a gruff baritone voice from the other side of camp.

"Fenris?" Hawke tried to get up, to reach his friend. He had so much to thank him for.

"Do not strain yourself." The elf ordered, sitting down next to Hawke's bed roll. "You are badly injured, it will be a while yet before we can move on."

"How?" William chocked, "I… I thought I was a goner."

"I got there just in time." Fenris replied, "I only wish I had gotten there sooner."

Hawke turned over to meet the other man's eyes. "Fenris… you saved my life."

The elf smiled ever so slightly at this. "I did no more than you would have done for me."

Despite the pain, Hawke managed to smile back.

_Maker _had Hawke been lucky Fenris was with them. Another moment and he would have been darkspawn food. But not only had Fenris saved him… he had treated him as well.

Fenris was no healer of course, but he had been on his own long enough to know how to patch wounds up enough to make it to a healer. He cleaned the wound as best he could, and used an elf root poultice to ward off infection, and with any luck, protect him from the taint. He bandaged him up, and now that Hawke was conscious, he gave him a very small dose of sleep poison to dull he pain. (Hawke could almost hear Anders lecturing the elf about using poison to "treat" an injured man.) Even as the pain began to fade and weariness washed over him, he forced himself to stay awake.

"How bad is it?" Will rasped, as Fenris turned away to fetch some water for him.

"I won't sugar coat it," Varric answered from just out of Hawke's line of sight, "It's bad. You'll make it to the surface, and your eye is still _there_…"

"But..?" Hawke prompted as Fenris brought a canteen to his lips.

"I'm no healer…" Varric continued, clearly uncomfortable, "So maybe I'm wrong but… I don't even think Blondie could save your eye…"

Will sputtered around a mouth full of water, and Fenris jumped back in surprise.

Silence stretched between the three men for a long moment.

"Anders is going to have to remove it… isn't he..?" Hawke's voice was small and broken.

"That is our fear." Fenris replied, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "But either way… You will never regain your sight."

They quickly turned away from the topic, discussing the other details of Hawke's condition. The trauma of the stabbing had sent Will's body into shock, and he had stopped breathing briefly while Fenris was trying to stop the bleeding. Somehow he has survived… but they knew he would never be the same. It would be days before he would recover from the trauma, and the severity of his wounds brought fever to his body. They were on a time crunch. If they moved him too quickly, they run the risk of Hawke going into shock again. But the Deep Roads were not a place for an injured man. The longer they stayed, the higher the chances he end up like his sister.

After three days under Fenris' care, Hawke insisted they move on. His companions reluctantly agreed.

The journey home was slow going, as Hawke couldn't travel long before his injuries left him reeling with pain and dizziness. But eventually they did made it to the surface, Hawke leaning on Fenris like a crutch most of the way.

It was inevitable, really. Fenris had been his knight in shining armor when Hawke needed him most. Falling in love with the elf was certainly predictable.

Hawke didn't realize until that fateful night in his bedroom, however, that being there when he needed him didn't necessarily make Fenris the right choice. But it would be a while yet before Hawke would truly come to terms with that fact.


	3. Night Terrors

The Deep Roads left more scars than Hawke cared to admit. He had learned to hide them well, however. He had to put forward a front of strength. His mother needed him. His friends needed him. **Kirkwall** needed him. He was the ex-soldier turned mercenary who defended those who could not defend themselves. He was the assassin with the kind heart and a strong sense of justice. He was the man the needy called when they had nowhere else to turn. He was the Hawke: the man of the people.

A man unmeasurably broken.

Only those closest to him knew how damaged he truly was, and even they saw evidence of this rarely.

None of them knew about the nightmares.

Hawke told no one about the torment he endured night after night.

Darkspawn, lingering in the shadows, daggers glinting in the low light. They would surround him, easily swarming over his body and digging in with a hundred points of pain. They peeled skin from muscle, wrenched organs from his abdomen, wrapped their tainted fingers around exposed bone… Until Hawke woke, drenched in sweat, sometimes screaming, but always, _always_, terrified.

The dreams did not come every night. For a long time, they did not come at all, and Will had hoped it was over. He should have known, really. The Maker would not grant him such mercy. Perhaps it was the stress of it all, but since the night Fenris left, the dreams had returned.

And so Hawke woke, screaming, shaking, and horror stricken.

Jumping out of bed, Hawke stumbled to his fireplace to stroke the dying fire to life. As light washed over the room, he slumped to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

That was three nights now. Three horrific, sleepless nights. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He shook his head, trying to drive the images from his mind. Bloody, tainted fingers, ripping muscle clean from bone, gripping his exposed humerus and wrenching it gleefully from it's socket before chomping away at it like the piece of meat it had been reduced to. The small horde would gurgle excitedly as they peeled open his abdomen and dug into his organs, squabbling among themselves over who got the best pick of his sweet meats. And the blood, Maker, the blood. Arteries angerly pumped his boiling life force from his traumatized limbs, quickly pooling on the floor for the darkspawn to lap up. They seemed to enjoy pulling and toying with his blood soaked tendons, ripping them away agonizingly slow, just to watch their prey spasm and sob from the pain. It was horrific, and Hawke doubted he would ever fully forget it.

He sat there for a long while, shoulders trembling and breathing ragged. But he refused to cry. No, the darkspawn had drawn more than enough tears from him already. He would not let them win. Not this time.

So lost in this internal struggle, the soft knock on his bedroom door made him jump with fear and surprise. Maker, please, not…

"William?" Leandra Hawke poked her head into her son's bedroom, more worried than Hawke had seen her in a very long time.

Will scrambled to his feet, hurriedly wiping his eyes. (Ok, maybe he had lost that struggle with his tears.) He had to make himself presentable… She couldn't see him like this.

It was too late for that however. His screams of horror had not only woken his mother, but terrified her. She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. Reluctantly, Hawke joined her.

His mother was quiet for only a moment before voicing her fears, almost as if she could not contain them.

"It's been a long time since I've heard you scream like that." She whispered, placing a gentle hand on her son's knee.

Hawke could not meet her eye. He kept his lopsided gaze tethered to the fire before him. "Almost two years." He answered flatly.

This statement only proved to worry her more. "Dear… I think you need help."

"What help could anyone be?" Will replied coldly, "There are only two people in this city who could possibly understand what's happening to me. And neither are exactly the sentimental type."

Leandra was silent for a long moment. "This is about that elf… isn't it?"

Hawke grunted. "Yes, yes, it's the bloody elf. Everything that goes wrong from now on is a result of my gay love affair with that elf. It's not like he has a name. Or I've known him for three years and he's saved my life multiple times. But no… he's just _some elf._"

Leandra was taken aback. "William, that's not what I meant and you know it!"

Will's jaw tightened, but he still did not look at her. "I have nightmares because I'm weak and broken and fucked up in the head. Not because of Fenris."

Hawke finally met her gaze when she took his hand in hers. He was surprised when her eyes were soft, and her voice sincere. "You are anything but weak, my dear. But I do believe the pain of losing Fenris is making…. Whatever this is… much worse."

William sighed heavily, conceding that. "You're probably right."

"Aren't you friends with a Warden?" Leandra asked, "He'd know a fair bit about darkspawn nightmares, wouldn't he?"

Hawke shook his head forcefully. "No! No, I don't need his help, I just need time, maybe with some rest I'll-"

"William." Leandra interrupted, gently yet firmly. "There's nothing wrong with needing help. That's what your friends are there for! I know you think you have this reputation to uphold, but it doesn't make you weak to seek help from the people you trust when you really need it!"

Hawke pursed his lips, seriously turning the thought over in his mind for the first time. It was true that Anders was once a Gray Warden. Even if he didn't know anything about his nightmares, he was a healer. Perhaps there was something he could do for him…

Will nodded, shifting his gaze once more to the fire. "Yes… You're right. You're always right. I'll visit Anders in his clinic tomorrow… Maybe he knows something about this that I don't…"

* * *

I apologize if I left anyone waiting a while for this, especially considering how short this chapter is. Things will start to pick up steam next time! My subscription for Word expired, and I don't trust my spelling enough to use notepad. So sadly I had to take care of that and it delayed me a bit. I'll try to release on a more regulated schedule in the future ~


	4. Clinical Confessions

Hawke felt nervousness coil in his belly as he passed through the shabby tunnels of the Darktown sewers. Part of him really didn't want to be there. His pride wasn't quite ready to concede that he needed help to cope with this anxiety; but his brain told him that if he continued to walk around like a sleep deprived zombie he was bound to get a dagger through his back. Keeping up his macho man façade had become so very tiring. In the back of his mind, Hawke couldn't wait to have this burden lifted from his shoulders, even if he would never admit it.

As the troubled rogue found himself outside his friend's clinic, he hesitated. What if Anders was busy? He knew there were days the clinic was packed with patients, and Hawke found himself hoping today was not one such day. The idea of taking Anders' attention away from someone who might really need it made him _immensely_ uncomfortable.

It was the little voice in the back of his mind asserting that _he _really needed Anders' attention that gave him the courage to enter.

A quick scan of the room calmed his nerves: There was only a single patient. An older women sat on the cot nearest the mage, her hacking cough answering any questions regarding why she was there. Anders had his back to her, (and by extension, Hawke) calmly giving the women instructions as he mixed her up a potion.

"-every night until the bottle is empty, and you should be right as rain! If you don't see any improvement by the end of the week, don't be afraid to come back and let me have another look."

He handed a rather large bottle of tonic to the women, who responded by shaking his hand and thanking him almost franticly. Anders took it in stride, wishing her well and sending her on her way. Finally looking up and seeing Hawke in the doorway, he smiled.

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" the mage teased warmly, "I haven't seen you in quite a while! We missed you at the Hanged Man the other night."

It accrued to Hawke that, having opted out of the last session of Wicked Grace, the only ones to have seen him since his falling out with Fenris were Varric and Isabella. He hadn't actively cut himself off from his friends, but having only left the estate once in a little over a week, they wouldn't have the slightest clue what was going on with him right now. The exception being Varric, but Anders' cheerfulness implied the dwarf had kept his mouth shut about the conversation they had in the bar that night. He would have to remember to thank him for that.

"I'm in no mental state to be playing cards with Isabella." The rogue joked half-heartedly, "I have a hard enough time with her when I'm well."

Anders' eyes clouded with worry. "Is something the matter?"

Hawke let out a heavy sigh. "Yes… I… Think I need a medic's opinion."

The blonde nodded, motioning for him to take a seat. Once the two men sat facing each other on adjacent cots, he folded his fingers thoughtfully, and gave the red-head a gentle smile. "So, what's on your mind?"

The rogue kept his gaze tethered to his feet. "Maker, where do I even begin…?"

Anders cocked an eyebrow. "Well, words would be a good place to start."

Hawke snorted, ignoring that. "I… won't lie. This is… rather personal. And a bit embarrassing…"

Anders cut in as Hawke hesitated. "What, did the elf give you crotch rot? I shouldn't be surprised, not like he'd come to me for treatment if he caught something."

Hawke head snapped up so quickly he popped his neck. "Varric told you?!"

He would have to remember to "thank" him for that.

The mage merely laughed. "Told me what? We all see the way you took at the man! When the two of you drop off the face of Thedas for a solid week what are we supposed to think?" he laughed even harder at the other man's shocked expression, "Not that any of us would interfere. Fenris is a bloody fool, but it's none of my business if you want to spend a week rutting him into your mattress!"

Hawke flushed deeply at the accusations, and wanted nothing more than to bolt from the clinic in embarrassment. But Ander's words kept him frozen to the spot.

"None of you have seen Fenris?"

Anders let out one final chuckle. "Yes, when neither of you showed up for cards, discussion of your "disappearance" was a fairly hot topic. I've never seen Merrill blush so much."

The red-head gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Anders, I _swear_ it's not what you think."

The mage gave him a playful smirk, daring him to continue.

Hawke took a deep breath, diving into his story. "The night after we tracked down Hadriana, Fenris came to see me at the estate. He wanted to apologize for the taking all his anger out on me, and well… one thing led to another, and…"

"He gave you a taste of his anger in a rather _different _fashion?" Anders jeered.

Hawke snarled, but blushed even deeper. "Ok, we had sex, but that's not the point!"

The mage raised his eyebrows, but motioned for him to continue.

Hawke shook himself in an attempt to clear his head. This was where it got personal. "Fenris was gone before the sun rose the next morning. I doubt he'd appreciate me sharing his parting words, but… They hurt. I'll leave it at that."

Anders' face fell. All playfulness left his eyes as he listened intently to his friend.

"I was devastated." The strawberry-blonde rogue confessed in a small voice. "That's why you haven't seen me for so long. I've… hardly left the estate all week. I hardly even got out of bed for the first few days…" Hawke put his face in his hands. "We'd been skirting around each other so long, I though it _meant something. _That I'd finally broken through his barriers…"

Hawke jumped slightly when he felt the cot dip beside him. Before he could even look up, Anders had pulled him into a tight hug.

"Dear Maker, I'm so sorry Hawke." The mage said, holding his friend close. "And here I've been teasing you about him this whole time! I never would have…"

Hawke pulled away, not meeting his friend's gaze. "You didn't know."

Anders was silent for a moment, absorbing all the rogue had told him.

"But that isn't why I'm here." the younger man asserted, turning back to his friend, "it's sort of related, I suppose, this started bothering me the night after… yeah… but I'm not sure if-"

"Hawke." The mage interrupted, "Just tell me what's bothering you."

So he told him. He told him _everything. _He had kept these fears bottled up for so many years now, and finally the flood gates opened, and every little scar the darkspawn had left on his psyche came tumbling from his mouth. He told him of his nightmares. His fits of terror upon waking. How many night he saw Bethany's face in his dreams. He told him everything.

And Anders merely listened.


End file.
